The Amazing Adventures of Pilar Brosca, Dwarf
by Sagacious Rage
Summary: A series of vignettes about pivotal moments in the life of Pilar Brosca, updated at random and out of chronological order. Rating change for violence
1. Daddy Long Legs

Of course Pilar had heard stories of how tall humans were. She just never believed it. Dwarves talk a lot. But there he was, sure as stone, a good two spans taller than the the most impressive of the fighters.

If she was feeling critical, Pilar would have noticed that his shoulders were rather narrow and his beard paltry for a man of that size and stature. But she wasn't feeling critical. At all.

Leske smacked her on the arm. "What's wrong with you, are you addled or something? Let's get moving, we got a job to do."

"Is that the Grey Warden?" she asked, unable to take her eyes away. "Is he really here?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Leske grinned. "Hey, you know what? I dare you to go over there and talk to him."

Pilar never backed down from a dare. Ever. But right now she _really_ wanted to. Her belly felt like it was full of a litter of nuglets, her knees weak as water. "So I will."

She walked over to the human with as much bravado as she could muster. "Um," she cleared her throat and prepared for his scorn. "Hello."

"Stone met," the man said, crossing his arms and bowing to her. "And blessings on your house."

He had to be joking. "Right back at ya," she crossed her arms and sneered.

"Oh, I apologize," he looked genuinely upset. "The last time I was in Orzammar, that was the proper greeting."

"Yeah, well..." she didn't really know what to do. It would have been easier if he cuffed her and sent her on her way. "I don't really... have a house." She rubbed the back of her neck.

"Oh!" Duncan nodded. "That's what the brand means. Forgive me, I did not mean to offend."

She couldn't linger. She had work to do and Leske was waiting and she could tell the crowd had started to notice that she was there and speaking to the honored guest. But she didn't want to leave. He was so kind. She looked to make sure the guards weren't coming yet. "I heard you were recruiting for the Wardens," she said in a conspiratorial tone. He bent down to hear her better. "Is that true?"

His expression grew serious. "If I find suitable candidates, perhaps. I'm hoping the Proving will help in this regard."

The Proving. That sealed it, she would never be able to convince him to take her. It was a stupid idea, anyway. "I'm sure you will. There's a lot of good fighters in the competition."

* * *

Pilar forgot who she was. With her face covered by Everd's helmet, her opponents spoke to her with _respect_. Well, other than Lenka, of course. But even the Silent Sister regarded her as an equal.

And then Pilar realized that with her brand covered, she was not an equal. She was _better_ than them. She dodged so fast, struck so sure, anticipated their moves so well and feinted so masterfully she left her opponents staggered.

It wasn't as easy as usual. Everd favored a much heavier type of armor than she did, and his longsword and shield slowed her down more than she liked. But she found herself having to bite back giggles of glee at the fact that encumbered as she was, there wasn't a single member of the warrior caste who could keep up.

Rica was right. She _was_ good enough! For the first time, she felt like her skin was clean, that the dust had washed off in the sweat of the Proving.

The crowd was roaring in approval, and in the din Pilar began to laugh. They couldn't hear her, and she couldn't resist. She looked up and saw Duncan gazing down at her, stroking his beard thoughtfully. And her heart sank a bit, because he would never know the truth. He'd end up recruiting that drunken idiot Everd.

She could live with that. Because now she could go back to Dust Town and know that she beat the best Orzammar had to offer at their own game.

Tossing her sword in the air and giving one last whoop of triumph, she started coming up with a scheme to get back to Everd's room and dress him in his armor so he could go meet his adoring crowd, when something horrible happened.

Stumbling and waving with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face anybody had ever seen, Everd himself came to greet the crowd.

The roar got louder, meaner, and Pilar wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. Her mouth went dry and her stomach sank to the Deep Roads as everybody went silent.

The Shaper looked at her with eyes as hard as agate. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice ringing off the stone.

She set her jaw and looked directly at Duncan. "Look upon the face of your champion!" she roared, ripping off her helmet and flinging her hair back, to better display her brand.

The noise was so loud that Pilar thought for a moment that the ancestors themselves were so outraged by her actions, and the Proving Grounds had begun to cave in. But it was really just the cacophony of outrage from the spectators. They began flinging garbage at her so Pilar pulled her helmet back on and prepared for the guards.

She'd show Duncan what he was missing out on.

* * *

"Do you need a moment?" Duncan asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Nah," Pilar replied, ignoring the fact that she really could use a minute to get accustomed to the bright sun, the freezing air, and all that _sky_. "Let's go."

They walked in silence for a time, which Pilar appreciated. What could she say to him? She had met him only a few hours ago, and since then he had helped her defy both the Carta _and_ the Shaperate _and_ saved her life.

She glanced back up at the endless emptiness above her. The sky was terrifying. If she kept thinking about it she would make herself sick. She thought about home, instead. Rica told her she had high hopes for the noble she was seeing, but what if that didn't work out? And now her and Mam didn't even have the pittance Beraht had paid her. "Hey, Duncan," she said.

"Yes, do you need something?" he replied without a hint of irritation.

"Do Wardens get paid?" she asked. It was probably a rude question, but she needed to know.

Duncan turned to her, brow furrowed. Pilar braced herself in case he hit her for her impertinence. "All your needs will be provided for," he answered, sounding confused.

"Oh, good," she looked at the ground, wondering why the soles of her feet were cramping so hard. Maybe it was the uneven ground.

Thoughts Rica and Mam nagged at the back of her head. She had to find some way of getting money back to them. They'd starve without her.

* * *

Not long after, Duncan told her that they'd be stopping to rest and eat. They made their camp in a stand of pine trees. She sat on a sun-warmed stone, it's rough surface comforting to her in the sea of oddly springy pine needles. Pulling off her old, worn boots, she rubbed her feet and tried to ease the stiff muscles.

Duncan nodded knowingly. "I've heard about that."

"About what?" Pilar quickly pulled her boot back on.

"When you walk," he said, pulling provisions out of his pack, "are you curling your toes?"

"Yeah," she replied. "That's what you're supposed to do out here. How else to you keep from falling into the sky?"

Duncan laughed, but it wasn't mocking. "I assure you, you will not fall into the sky. Try to relax your feet more while walking, it will make you more comfortable."

Pilar nodded and started tearing into the bread and some kind of dried meat.

"And Pilar, one other thing." Duncan stretched out his weirdly long legs and leaned back against a tree. "I'd like my purse back."

Pilar choked on the bite she was chewing. "Huh?" she said, acting casual.

"The Wardens are granted a stipend each month as our budget allows. What you do with it is your business. Most use it for better arms or entertainment, but it is up to you where the money goes." He took a bite of an apple. "So if you don't mind, I'd like my purse back."

Pilar dug into her chest piece and produced the pilfered coins. "Sorry. I was just... worried about my mam."

Duncan took the purse, paused, and gave her a silver.

And Pilar would swear from that moment to her dying day, he then winked at her.

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* * *

A/N: So there it is, the beginning of my Brosca stories. This is just going to be a series of vignettes, out of chronological order, updated at random when the mood strikes me. Right now it's striking because of the Swooping is Bad 1500 Fest, celebrating 1500 members! I can't promise that this will be updated with any regularity, and rating may change considerably as we go. I'll try to warn in advance but it's probably best to put it on alerts if you're particularly interested in this story.


	2. You and Me

You and Me

Leske was her salroka. And Pilar was his. They had been best friends since they were both shin-kickers, meeting up on the street during evenings when Pilar was avoiding her mam and Leske was looking for his da.

Most other Dusters ignored them, so long as they made themselves useful when they were wanted and made themselves scarce when they weren't. Like all the other children.

And so they passed their time, stealing when they were bored (which was often) or hungry (which was all the time), playing Ogres and Legionnaires when the other children would allow them to join in and patching each other up when they got scraped and bruised.

Then things started changing. Pilar's shirts didn't fit so easy across her chest, and she felt men's eyes on her when she wrestled with Leske. Soon after she started feeling _Leske's_ eyes (among other things) on her and then she decided that maybe they shouldn't wrestle anymore. For his part, Leske grew broad-shouldered and thick-kneed and Pilar started noticing that his swagger made her feel things in the pit of her belly and she wasn't sure what to do about it. So she took her frustrations out by throwing little pebbles at his head when he wasn't looking.

This habit was what led to her troubles. She was out on the street one morning, early enough that most of the men weren't up yet. Without bothering to make sure that she bent her knees and ducked her hips and crouched in such a way as to avoid notice, she wandered the alleyways of Dust Town, picking up pebbles as she went.

"Not as pretty," a rough voice said behind her, startling her so much she dropped half the pebbles she had collected. "But you know what they say, all nugs look grey in the dark."

She spun around to see a pair of Carta thugs leering at her. "You're Rica's sister, right?" the bearded one asked, a strange gleam in his eye.

"Who wants to know?" She grasped her remaining pebbles tightly and tensed the muscles in her legs.

"A couple of her biggest fans," the ugly one laughed. "Only we're not important enough to get a crack at her, so we'll have to try you and imagine what it's like."

"So go ahead." She stuck her chin out. "Try me."

They exchanged glances and laughed, a cruel laughter that sent chills down Pilar's spine. The bearded one stretched casually, and then struck fast as a deep stalker to crack a fist on her jaw.

She anticipated the blow, ducked and whipped her pebbles at the ugly one's eyes. While he was yelping and clawing at his face, the bearded one lurched for her. She dove for his knees, rolling as he collapsed awkwardly and tossing up a cloud of dust. He grabbed for her ankles and she kicked more dust in his eyes, quickly grabbing his dagger out of his belt. He cursed when he saw her with the blade, hurtling himself at her before he had fully found his feet again. He collided roughly with her, slamming her to the ground. By this time the ugly one had blinked the blood out of at least one of his eyes, and lunged at her as well. She stuck the dagger under his ribs, angling up to hit his heart. He made a horrible gurgling sound and fell on the bearded one, coughing up a froth of blood.

She tried to scramble away but the bearded one was too fast. He jumped at her again, catching her under him and knocking the breath out of her chest. She grabbed a fist-sized stone and cracked him across the temple, hitting him so hard his skull split and blood sprayed across her face.

His brains boiled out of the side of his head and he dropped like a sack of dung. Pilar kicked him in the face one more time just to be sure and then bolted for home.

* * *

By the time Leske came looking for her, she had washed and changed and choked down a bit of lichen bread and generally pulled herself together enough to pretend like nothing had happened. "Look at you," she said as she grabbed a comb from her lockbox. "Your braids are all loose."

Leske shrugged and grinned. "What can I say? The ladies like to pull on them."

She arched an eyebrow. "Do they? Well come out on the stoop and I'll tighten them back up again."

"What would I do without you, salroka?" Leske sighed contentedly, settling down on the stoop in front of her as she sat with her knees on either side of his shoulders.

She snorted a laugh as she started combing out his braids. "You'd have to settle for a lesser-quality tumble if I wasn't around to pretty you up, that's sure as stone."

He hissed as she yanked through a particularly tight knot. "Did you get in a fight without me?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"No, of course not," she lied as easy as breathing.

"Oh I see how it is. You won't give your ol' buddy Leske the time of day but here you are letting some other Duster tumble you." He traced the fresh scrapes and bruises on her knees and calves with his forefinger, evidence that most others wouldn't have noticed.

She laughed again, and started spinning a tale of her high-born lover who was going to plant a son in her belly and get her out of Dust Town when a shadow fell across Leske's scalp. "You mind?" she said without looking up. "You're in my light."

"And you're messing in my boss' business," a harsh-voiced woman drawled.

Leske turned and looked at Pilar, and looking so profoundly dumbstruck that Pilar couldn't help but laugh. "Us? What's your boss' business then?" Pilar asked, pushing Leske's head forward without looking up. "Stoop sitting? Maybe he has a thriving business in pick pocketing beggars?"

The woman slapped Pilar on the ear, and she yelped. The force of the blow and the sudden sharp pain on her eardrum sent her reeling. "Talk like that will land you an early end in a ditch. The boss wants to talk to you two sorry excuses for dwarflesh, so I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head while we all go and have a nice little chat with Beraht."

* * *

Pilar and Leske stood together, both trying to make themselves more unassuming and unimportant than the other. It was a lost cause though, as the only people in the grand main room of the Carta hideout were them, some guards, the harsh-voiced woman, and Beraht.

The biggest Carta boss in Dust Town.

Beraht sat, stroking his beard and glaring at them over the bridge of his bulbous nose. "You've been busy."

Pilar glanced at Leske and caught his eye. She kept her mouth shut long enough that he felt pressured to pipe up. "I... all due respect but we haven't been busy with anything. Ever."

Beraht spat. "That's what the respect of Dusters like you is worth." He scoffed. "And I don't like liars. So one of you better figure out how to explain this or you'll both be joining them." He nodded at a pair of guards to his right, who dragged in the stiff and battered bodies of the two thugs who had attacked Pilar that morning.

She took a deep breath and held it, trying to settle her stomach as it lurched its revulsion at both the situation and the ripe bodies. Leske looked absolutely ashen.

"I'm waiting," Beraht said in a chillingly calm tone as he tested the edge of his dagger on his thumb.

"It was me," Pilar blurted out. "I did it."

"No," Leske jumped in. "I did, not her."

"What are you doing, you sodding nuglicker-" Pilar shoulted.

"You keep your dusty mouth shut, tramp," Leske snarled. "You want the one that did it? It was me."

"Don't listen to him! He's a stone-lost liar." Pilar shoved him away. "I'm the one that did it. They found me on the street this morning and said they wanted to try me so I told them to and-"

"Shut it! Both of you!" Beraht roared, burying the tip of his dagger several inches deep in the arm of his chair. "To be honest? I don't give a flea's fart which one of you actually did it. But I lost two thugs today and somebody saw you-" He pointed a gnarled finger at Pilar, "running away from the bodies. So I figure, what's the best way to replace a couple of worthless bodies? Hire the worthless bodies that killed them. And since it was both of you, you both got work. Got it?"

Pilar's mouth went dry and she clenched her fists. "Got it," she said in unison with Leske.

"Good. Jarvia?" He turned to the harsh-voiced woman.

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

"I'm sick of looking at these two idiots. Take them to the common room and get them kitted out. You can decide what their duties are for the day."

* * *

"Alright, you two midden munchers. We got a stall keeper over in the Market District who hasn't been paying his dues. I need you to go over there and either take it out of his pocket or take it out of his hide." She smacked Leske across the face, yanking his attention back to her. "Don't kill him. Dead men aren't profitable. And if he actually _does_ pay up, don't get any ideas. The likes of you are replaceable."

Pilar and Leske nodded and made their way towards the gate. Pilar managed to control herself until she heard the big stone door slam shut behind them before dashing off to vomit in a gutter. "You are the dumbest Duster around," she said, wiping her mouth as Leske pulled her hair back. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking it would be real boring around here without you. So whatever trouble you got yourself in, I wanted to tag along." He handed her a canteen of water.

She rinsed her mouth and spat in the gutter. "You are the best salroka a girl ever had. Even if you are the dumbest."

He grinned, though not as wide as normal. The welt Jarvia had given him had already begun to darken. "Come on, let's get on with it."

She shook off her nausea and guilt. "You know, you should really grow a beard. Cover up all those bruises from the ladies. Maybe even cushion your face enough so you wouldn't bruise in the first place."

He laughed and clapped her on the back. "Yeah, not a bad plan. You should think about it, too. A nice thick beard would help cushion my eyes from looking at your ugly mug all day."

And so, laughing and joking, they made their way to the Market District. As if nothing had changed.

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* * *

A/N: I have a plan for something I'd like to do for this story around Valentine's Day, but it will involve a rating change to M for sex. So keep that in mind.


	3. Sun it Will Rise

Love wasn't something Pilar ever thought about in Dust Town. Sex, sure. But not _love_. Love was for songs and stories. Dusters rutted, and casted dwarves arranged marriages of political advantage. Love was saved for secret sighs and unrequited feelings and other things better off left alone.

Sometimes, when she was left alone with her thoughts (which wasn't often) she'd wonder if her da ever loved her mam.

* * *

"Here, do you know what this is?" Alistair asked, a faint tremor in his voice.

"Hm?" Pilar looked up from cleaning darkspawn blood off her armor to see her friend crouching next to her, holding a small flowering plant. "Oh yeah!" she grinned. "Leske and me, we stole a bunch of these off a surface merchant once." She shook her head and grimaced at the memory. "They don't make good eating, though. Real tough and bitter even after we boiled them for _hours_!"

Alistair furrowed his brow. "No, it's not for eating. It's a rose."

"If you can't eat it, what's it for then?" she asked as she turned back to her chores.

"What's it for?" he repeated, baffled. "It's just to... look pretty. And it's for you."

She stared up at him. "For me? Really?" She quickly ran through every option she could think of to come up with a reason to possess such a thing. "Why?"

He blushed a deep red and became even more flustered. "Because it's nice to have beautiful things. And it's for you because it reminded me of you. And... I have to go," and he ran off, stumbling over a tree root.

She sat for a moment, stunned, staring at the flower. Its petals were a deep velvet red, soft and silky. Its smell rich and sweet. The thorns had all been painstakingly trimmed. She stood and wandered over to Morrigan's tent.

"Hey, Morrigan?" she asked as she sat next to her at the fire. "Do you still have that mirror I gave you?"

"Of course," Morrigan reached into her pack to retrieve the shiny thing, and handed it to her.

They sat in companionable silence as Pilar alternated between studying her face in the mirror and studying the flower. "Reminded him of _me_," she murmured to herself, still not quite believing it.

* * *

With every step they got that much closer to Redcliffe. He couldn't avoid it anymore. He had to tell her.

They stopped just outside of the village to take stock of their gear, a habit Pilar had started back when they were returning to Ostagar from the Kocari Wilds. She said it was so she could haggle better at the shops. Since Pilar was the best haggler Alistair had ever met, he didn't question it.

She was examining the blades of a pair of daggers when he finally worked up the courage to confess his secret.

"There's something I need to tell you," he began. And immediately saw the flaw in his plan as her first reaction was to grip the daggers tighter and eye him up warily.

"So? Tell," she said in a neutral tone, returning to her sorting, though her shoulders were still tense.

"You know how I told you that Arl Eamon raised me before sending me to the Chantry, right?" He half-hoped she didn't remember, because then he could tell her that story again, instead of the one he was trying to tell now.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, checking the inscription on a leather helmet. "Humans are so odd like that. Why wouldn't the other servants take care of you instead of the higher caste. I mean 'class'," she corrected herself.

"Well, funny you should say that," his stomach roiled. He glanced around to make sure nobody could overhear and crouched next to her. "You see, the real reason is because, well," he swallowed, his mouth dry. "My father was King Maric. Which makes me King Cailan's half-brother. And I never really cared about it until now-"

Her head whipped up and she glared at him through narrow eyes. "I think we should get moving," she said, teeth clenched.

"Pilar, wait! I can-" he tried.

"Let's go!" she shouted to the others, interrupting him without acknowledging that she ever heard.

They gathered up their gear in silence, and she took the lead as he lagged in the back with a heavy heart.

* * *

The villagers of Redcliffe celebrated rowdily, with drinking and dancing and bonfires. It was the sort of party Pilar would have loved, if her heart wasn't breaking.

She was never all that good at pretending to be happy when she wasn't. As soon as she saw an opening, she slipped away from the celebration and found an crawlspace under one of the porches of the lake cottages. She hid herself under there and pulled the rose out of her pocket.

"Amber rose. Lothering rose," she muttered. "I am no noble hunter." She clenched her fists and pressed her knuckles into her eyes until she saw stars. Breathing deep, she struggled not to cry.

It was stupid of her to think it could be different. Love was for elves and humans and casted dwarves and surfacers. Not for Dusters or other animals. Stupid, stupid girl.

She didn't know how to handle this. She felt a searing pain in her heart that wasn't a physical injury. She wanted to fight but she didn't know what to hit. She was angry but it all kept turning back on herself for ever thinking that such a funny, kind, handsome, charming sort of man could ever find something to love about a girl like her.

A shadow fell over her, someone was blocking the moonlight filtering through the gaps in the wood. She shifted back even further.

"Pilar?" Alistair said, sounding worried. "Are you here?"

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you," she swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Ever."

"Please," he said, crouching and peering under the porch. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I didn't realize you would be so hurt by me not telling you about my father. If I had known, I would have told you a long time ago."

She bit her lip, feeling like she was going to explode from anger and sadness. "I made a promise to Rica when we were younger."

He crawled under, and bumped his head on a support beam. "Ow! What sort of promise," he asked as he sat across from her and rubbed his forehead.

She took a deep breath. She realized she couldn't look at him without wanting to cry so she turned her face away. "She said to me that I was special, that I had talents that other people didn't have. And I shouldn't waste that. So she made me promise that I would never, ever be a noble hunter. So. Here," she handed him the rose.

He stared at it a moment, frowning. "I don't understand. What's a noble hunter?"

"I don't know what they call it up here," she dug a stick into the dirt, flicking up clods and carving a pattern. "Basically, it's a way to jump up the castes. Even a Duster woman can get a better lot if she manages to birth a son to a man from a higher caste. There's no shame in it," she said quickly, defending her sister. "But it's not for me. I _promised_."

He shook his head, frowning harder. "But, I don't understand. We're both Grey Wardens. Why would anything change if we were... to..." he coughed uncomfortably.

"Because you're going to be king! Your father was king so that's what you are," she finally was able to look at him because she couldn't believe he was really that dumb.

"No!" he protested. "Pilar, it doesn't work that way up here. I was never in line for the throne, it was always made very clear to me. And I'm fine with that! I just wanted to let you know because I didn't want it to be awkward if somebody like Arl Eamon mentioned it." He sighed. "I've made a real mess of this whole business." He looked back at her. "I'd still like you to have the rose, though. I can't think of anybody else I'd rather give it to," and he handed it back to her with a shrug.

She took it and he turned to crawl back out.

* * *

He had gotten a few feet away when something hit him in the back of his knees, knocking him over. "Oof!" he grunted as he tumbled to the ground. "What the-"

And then Pilar was straddling him, a strange look in her eye. "Why not?" she demanded.

"Why not what?" he asked, head spinning with confusion, and other parts of his body reacting in ways he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with right at that moment.

"Why don't you want to give this thing to anybody else? Why _me_?" She gripped the front of his shirt, confusion and desperation writ large on her expression.

There were three things that Alistair was sure of at that moment: first, Pilar needed something very specific from him, second, he had absolutely no idea what that was, third, if he didn't figure it out very quickly then she would be lost to him forever. "Because... because I've never met anybody like you."

She gripped his shirt tighter. "Yeah, well, we're going to Orzammar soon. You'll meet plenty of Duster wenches, then."

His heart thundered in his chest. "That's not what I meant. When I met you, I didn't even know what a Duster was. I thought your brand was just part of your tattoo." She started to loosen her grip, started to climb off of him, and he grabbed her wrists. "You wanted to know, and now you don't want to listen?" he protested.

She relaxed slightly. "Fine, keep talking," she said, flat and disinterested.

He held her wrists tighter. "I meant that I've never known somebody so beautiful."

"You're a liar," she shook her head, tears streaming in earnest. "I'm a freak, everybody says so."

"If you're a freak it's only because most people are selfish and judgmental and weak. You're better than most people. You're special," the words came easier, the feelings he had pent up over the last few months finally finding release. "And when I say you're beautiful, I don't just mean how you look. I mean how you're perceptive and frank and unpretentious and generous and... And after all that's happened. After Ostagar and losing Duncan and being hunted by Teyrn Loghain and having to fight darkspawn and demons and undead corpses I still feel lucky because as long as we're doing this I get to be with you. And that's enough. That's all I want, to be with you and maybe help you while you keep being this astonishing woman."

She choked a sob back in her throat, and then kissed him fiercely.

Her face was flushed, and he tasted the salt of her tears and smelled the smoke in her hair. Her little tongue darted out and danced across his bottom lip and all of the blood of his body started rushing like it didn't know where it wanted to go. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything. He let go of her wrists and gripped her thighs, wishing he had another hand to touch her hair and trace the curves of her body and hold her breasts.

And then _her _hands were pressed against him, tearing at the laces of his shirt and britches and her mouth was on his neck and collar bone and he realized that it was actually happening right then and there, out in the open with the villagers celebrating not ten yards away.

He thought of maybe trying to stop her and suggest that they go elsewhere but then she slipped out of her skirt and yanked her shirt over her head and he suddenly wasn't able to form coherent thoughts anymore.

She was a blur of motion and he could hardly keep up, let alone anticipate what she was doing. And before he knew it she had yanked off his pants and was handling him in ways that made no question of the fact that she knew a lot more about what she was doing than he did.

"Stone," she whistled low. "You _are _a big 'un."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm... sorry?" he blushed.

She laughed low and a thrill went up his spine. "You've got nothing to apologize for." And she slithered back onto him and held herself just above him. He could feel her heat and knew exactly where he wanted to be, but was having trouble figuring out how to get from where he was to where he wanted to go.

She leaned forward and let her lips brush against his chest as she spoke. "I know you've said you haven't done this before. So we're just going to listen to me for a while. And don't worry if you can't hold on very long, that's normal."

His nerves settled somewhat, he nodded. She inched back and carefully guided him into her. He gasped as she let out a long, slow sigh.

He didn't know what to do or what to focus on. So many time he had imagined what this moment would be like but never in his most adventurous fantasies had he considered that he would become a man outside, during a party, with a dwarf. He looked at the stars and felt the smooth skin of her hips and tried to focus on anything but the incredible feeling of being so deep inside her, her slickness and heat and the pulsing rhythm as she shifted on top of him.

It was too much, he could feel it. He remembered older Wardens talking about reciting the Chant backwards to last longer and he got about as far as "Forgiven be And..." before he was driven over the edge.

* * *

She lay beside him, nestled in the crook of his arm. She wasn't feeling _quite _satisfied, but refrained from mentioning it so as to avoid hurting his feelings. She contented herself with looking at his profile, silhouetted in the firelight.

His face was so unlike what she was used to. His jaw so pointy, his nose so small and... pointy. And hardly any beard to speak of. But still she thought him the most handsomest man she had ever seen. Squirming closer, she tried to reach as far across his chest as she could, and hold him tightly. Her heart swelled in her chest. It hurt, but she wasn't sad. "Hey, Alistair," she said.

"Hm?" he responded, gently running his fingers through her hair.

"I feel lucky, too," she said and grinned.

He tightened his arm around her. "Well," he drawled. "I'm not the expert you are on such matters, but I do believe that I'm up to trying to make you feel even luckier. Again. If you want."

She giggled. "Why not? Third time's a charm."

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Happy Valentine's Day! And special thanks to Crisium Rising for filling in for my usual beta, Lothering Rose.


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